


no complaints/no conversation

by Anonymous



Series: not that kind of arrangement [3]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Comfort Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, M/M, ONCE AGAIN. I WOULD JUST LIKE TO APOLOGISE TO BRYN AND BEN FOR THIS., Pining, Porn with a side of Plot, Post-Coital Cuddling, Praise Kink, Riding, Rough Sex, SORRY BEN., SORRY BRYN., Touch-Starved, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, listen if no one else is gonna be horny on main for hamids draconic heritage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 13:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18718120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Hamid collapses into him, and Zolf still doesn’t know what to do, but Hamid shakes a little less when Zolf wraps an arm around his shoulders.





	no complaints/no conversation

It’s dark outside. Seven o’clock and the sun has set. Seven o’clock and everyone else has left Hamid’s apartment. Bertie left for his date, Sasha left for… some reason, Zolf didn’t ask. ‘Stuff to do’ is exactly the kind of vague he knows better than to investigate. Hamid went into his room and hadn’t made a noise since. Zolf is bored out of his mind, so he knocks tentatively on Hamid’s bedroom door.

It creaks open. 

Hamid always locks his door. Makes sense, with a flatmate like Bertie. Makes sense, with a flatmate like Sasha. Too damn curious for their own good. Zolf pushes the door open because he’s too damn curious for his own good, and there’s Hamid, curled into a corner, shuddering. Zolf doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do. 

(Fat tears rolled down Hamid’s cheeks, washing away just a bit of the grime of Other London, and he looked damn near _undone,_ so Zolf squeezed his arm comfortingly. Hamid spent the rest of the walk brushing shoulders with him. Hamid grazed his knuckles against Zolf’s, almost like it could be an accident. Hamid took hold of his arm and purred right in his ear—)

Zolf walks over without saying anything and sits down next to Hamid. He doesn’t touch him, doesn’t say anything. He just sits there, unsure of how to help, feeling useless. And then Hamid collapses into him, and Zolf still doesn’t know what to do, but Hamid shakes a little less when Zolf wraps an arm around his shoulders.

(Hamid came back to the waking world clutching Zolf’s arm so tight that it had gone numb. Zolf was pretty sure shaking Hamid up from his nightmare was a good way to get his eyes clawed out, so he’d just pulled Hamid against him, ignoring the light that slowly poured into Hamid’s den, refracting through what little brandy there was left on the table. Hamid didn’t cry, just shuddered, slowly easing the pressure off Zolf’s arm. When the pins and needles had vanished, and Hamid felt like himself again, he apologised and thanked Zolf in the same breath.)

Hamid croaks, “Can I kiss you?” Zolf blinks over at him. And then he nods, awkward and unsure, and Hamid presses a faint kiss to his lips. Still trembling. Zolf lets him, because what kind of objection is he going to make? He places his free hand on Hamid’s cheek, and Hamid breaks away to look at him, eyes half-glazed and face ashen.

(Hamid was so cold when Zolf found him. He’d managed to get Hamid to safety, and when he’d put a hand to his wrist to check for a pulse, Hamid was _frozen._ He might as well have been filled with ice.)

Hamid is half-turned toward him, and he kisses Zolf again, less hesitant. One of his hands (still cold) slides across Zolf’s inner thigh, far too high up. He doesn’t seem to care, still kissing Zolf, leaning in, pressing closer— Zolf pushes him back. Hamid blinks slowly. Zolf asks, “Are you good for that right now?” hating the way his voice turns soft. Hamid nods, already shifting back into Zolf’s personal space. “Hamid, I don’t want to take advantage,” he says, but it’s half what he knows he should say and half excuse, and it can’t be very believable considering the way Zolf’s already moving to accommodate him. 

Hamid kisses him. “You’re not,” he assures, hands sliding up to curl around Zolf’s arm and the nape of his neck as he slides down. Zolf tips his head back. “I’m alright,” he promises into the hollow of Zolf’s throat. And he says it with such quiet confidence in his voice, his body slowly warming up as he presses against Zolf, feeling like something heaven-sent as he starts sucking bruises into Zolf’s neck. Gods, Zolf doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. He knows it’s only because Hamid needs a distraction, but Zolf is more than happy to provide one if it means Hamid _doesn’t stop._

(This keeps happening. Zolf isn’t complaining, how could he? How could he complain about Hamid moving to straddle him? How could he complain about someone so beautiful leaving marks on his skin? How could he complain about the man he’s got more than a small crush on kissing down his neck?)

Zolf moves his hands to rest against Hamid’s lower back, and Hamid hums contentedly. He murmurs something incomprehensible into Zolf’s shoulder, and he thinks it might be a spell, but hell if he’s going to focus on that right now. Hamid rocks forward, back, grinding down on Zolf’s lap. This keeps happening, but it probably shouldn’t be. “Do you actually want this, or are you just– there are other ways to get your mind off things,” Zolf says, but he doesn’t actually move to make Hamid get off. 

Hamid pulls back, eyes half-lidded, lips spit-slick, looking like one of Zolf’s more indecent daydreams. “I’m alright,” he says again. And then, “Please?”

(Hamid, eyes practically rolling back in his head, fingers digging into Zolf’s shoulder blades, whimpering under his breath for _please, more, more more more.)_

(Hamid, eyes wide with need, hand littered with bite marks, begging _please, Zolf.)_

(Gods, only a few weeks and Hamid’s already got Zolf wrapped around his finger. They’re not even– they got into a shouting match with each other _earlier today,_ they’re only mostly friends, but this keeps happening. Not that Zolf is complaining. How could he complain?)

It’s difficult, getting to his feet without letting go of Hamid, but Zolf manages it somehow. Hamid pulls him closer, and it’s barely any distance to the bed, but Hamid doesn’t seem to have any intention of moving. 

So Zolf, naturally, picks him up.

Hamid makes a noise of shock, but his legs wrap around Zolf’s waist and his arms cling tight to Zolf’s shoulders, so Zolf figures he hasn’t ruined anything. Zolf lays him down gently, careful to draw back just enough to give Hamid room to breathe. Hamid doesn’t seem to want room to breathe, immediately pulling Zolf down on top of him, fingers (claws?) (this keeps happening) scraping up and down Zolf’s back. “Off,” Hamid says suddenly, and Zolf tries to obey, standing up as much as he can before Hamid rumbles annoyedly and snags him by the arms. “Shirt,” he clarifies, _“shirt_ off.” 

Zolf says, “Oh,” and there’s more than a little embarrassment in his voice. Hamid smiles at him, on the vacant side of fond, and Zolf shucks his shirt and throws it somewhere over his shoulder. Hamid pulls him back down, and the scraping is _definitely_ due to claws. Zolf doesn’t think it’ll leave scars, but the sting of freshly drawn blood is something Zolf is intimately familiar with. He doesn’t tell Hamid to stop. Zolf starts to unbutton Hamid’s shirt, but Hamid’s fingers click from behind Zolf’s back, and suddenly the top half of Hamid’s outfit is gone. “Useful,” Zolf murmurs, slowly tracing his hands down Hamid’s chest. Hamid shudders, squeezes his eyes shut tight — Zolf’s hands stop at his ribs. “You alright?” Hamid nods, but his eyes stay closed. “Hamid, if I do something you don’t—”

Hamid’s eyes snap open, glowing golden. “I’ll _tell_ you,” he growls, and that should _not_ be as attractive as it is, “now come _here.”_ And what kind of objection is Zolf going to make?

(The first time this happened, Zolf was just checking to see how much Hamid would mind. Because even then, Zolf knew that someone like Hamid would probably never look twice at him. So imagine his surprise when Hamid laughed at his self-deprecating joke and put his hand on Zolf’s arm. So imagine his surprise when Hamid didn’t let go. So imagine his surprise when Hamid knocked back a shot and asked Zolf if he wanted to share a room.)

Zolf can already feel bruises forming under Hamid’s fingers. His ribs are going to be covered in yellow-green marks in the morning, but Zolf can’t bring himself to care about that. Hamid seems intent on bringing Zolf as close as possible, clinging to him and continuing to mark up his neck.

(The second time this happened, Hamid was so tired, but so _alive_ and so _beautiful,_ and he was sitting on the other end of the couch grinning at some story he’d just told like nothing had ever gone wrong for him, and how was Zolf supposed to do anything but reach out to touch him? And when Hamid kissed him, how was Zolf supposed to do anything but kiss back?)

Zolf manages not to be lured back in when Hamid follows him with a hand on his jaw and hot breath against his skin. _Just_ manages, but still. “What do you need?” he asks, and he hopes it doesn’t come across as ‘worry’.

Hamid tugs at him, and Zolf can’t do anything but be tugged back down, and the way Hamid _kisses_ him. “You,” Hamid mumbles, maybe an inch away from Zolf’s mouth, “I don’t know how. I don’t care. Just you,” and that doesn’t exactly lend itself to coherency, but it makes Zolf’s heart speed up anyway. 

(Everything Hamid does makes Zolf’s heart speed up. He tries to hide it, but he’s never been very good at bluffing. Hamid smiling makes it hard to breathe, Hamid subtly touching him makes it hard to think, Hamid this close makes his heart try and beat out of his chest.)

Hamid clings to him, claws digging in, holding Zolf as close as he can. Zolf starts trying to get his trousers off without pulling away, with very little success, and Hamid makes an impatient noise against his mouth. “Not all of us are magic.” Hamid makes a more impatient noise and pushes him off.

Zolf is going to ask what’s wrong, or apologise, but Hamid mutters, “Let _me_ do it, then,” and his hands are already dealing with the fasteners.

(Hamid’s fingers are long and delicate and _magic._ Literally and metaphorically. Something powerful shimmers beneath his skin and Zolf can feel it jolting into his own. Zolf would be lying if he said that the way Hamid moves his hands when casting didn’t distract him, sometimes. Zolf would be lying if he said that Hamid’s fingers working quickly at his buttons doesn’t turn him on.)

Hamid pushes him onto his back, claws scraping on his shoulders, teeth scraping at his pulse point. Zolf does his best not to sound needy when he asks, “Do you want me to do anything, or am I just an accessory?” It must come out like that anyway because Hamid moves back up to kiss him. 

Sweetly.

(Hamid is _sweet_ to people he’s using, to people he’s trying to charm. He doesn’t need to bother. Zolf’s been charmed since he first saw him.)

“Yes,” Hamid murmurs, sounding a bit breathless, “yes, I– hold me?” And what kind of objection is Zolf going to make? He squeezes Hamid’s waist (still cold, but at least he’s not freezing) and Hamid kisses him again. “Okay,” Hamid mumbles to himself. He pulls back, settles himself between Zolf’s legs, and Zolf nearly swallows his own tongue. “I'm going– is it alright if I ride you?” And how the hell is that a question? Gods, Hamid’s going to kill him. Zolf can’t even breathe, so he hasn’t the faintest idea how he’s supposed to say _please._ Hamid’s cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are dark, and Zolf wishes he could spend hours just looking at him, cataloguing him before he inevitably leaves.

(Zolf isn’t stupid; he knows how these things work. Zolf can’t let himself get so wrapped up in this that he forgets how Hamid actually feels about him. They’re only mostly friends, and Hamid is just making bad decisions that Zolf is too infatuated to hold him back from.) 

(Zolf knows how these things go. He knows Hamid will get tired of him, will move on, will find someone better. It’s a matter of time. There are a lot of people better than Zolf.)

Zolf slides his hands down to Hamid’s hips and pulls him in, hoping Hamid will get the hint because Zolf doesn’t know if he’ll be able to say it with words. But Hamid doesn’t move, just sits where he is, close but not close enough, staring at Zolf expectantly. “Yeah,” Zolf chokes, “yes, Hamid– _fuck,”_ because Hamid has started to slide down.

(This keeps happening, and it probably shouldn’t be, but Zolf is more than happy to let it as long as Hamid _doesn’t fucking stop.)_

Hamid tightens around him as he lowers himself down, and all the air rushes back into Zolf’s lungs at once. “I’m,” Hamid stammers, “I n-need—” he slips down further, and any words that might have been are lost in a high moan. Zolf tries not to pull Hamid down on his cock, really, but Hamid is so _warm,_ and he feels so _good_ that Zolf can’t help but ease him down faster. Hamid circles his hips, and the little whimper he makes is something Zolf is going to commit to memory. “Good,” Hamid pants. Zolf thrusts up, and Hamid whines as he falls forward some. _“So_ good,” he amends breathlessly, moving up and sinking back down so quickly that Zolf feels lightheaded with pleasure, “I need– _Zolf,_ you– I– _gods,”_ and Zolf doesn’t know what he did to deserve this, but he’s _damn_ glad he did it.

(This keeps happening. Zolf isn’t complaining, how could he? How could he complain about Hamid breathlessly stringing half-sentences together? How could he complain about someone so beautiful squirming around him? How could he complain about the man he’s got more than a small crush on moaning his name?)

Hamid’s hair is a mess, stray curls bouncing up and down, and Zolf reaches up to brush some of it back, but Hamid stills when Zolf’s hand leaves his hip. He blinks down at Zolf, desperation made plain in his dark eyes. Zolf softly says, “Hey, it’s okay; I just wanna see your pretty face.” Zolf tucks a bit of Hamid’s hair behind his ear, and Hamid moves into the touch, one hand circling Zolf’s wrist. Except, leaning forward like that means that Zolf’s cock drags out of him, and Hamid gasps. He rolls his hips back, and the _noise_ he makes goes straight to Zolf’s dick. “Gods, you’re so handsome,” Zolf murmurs, and Hamid’s eyes flutter shut. “D’you– I mean, fuck, Hamid, you’re the kinda guy people write _poems_ about, how the _hell_ are you real?” There’s a flush high on Hamid’s cheeks. Zolf kind of wants to kiss it.

Hamid whines, and he moves Zolf’s hand down. Zolf takes the hint, and Hamid’s little _‘ah– ah!’_ s of pleasure as Zolf rubs his clit are absolutely beautiful. He’s so sensitive, and so sexy, and _so completely_ out of Zolf’s league. Hamid grabs Zolf’s other wrist as well, like he’s making sure Zolf won’t let go. Zolf wouldn’t let go if he was _paid,_ can’t think of anything outside of Hamid telling him to that would make him stop rocking into Hamid and pulling him closer. “Don’t stop,” Hamid moans anyway. “Please, _please don’t stop,_ Zolf, you– _nnh!”_

(This keeps happening. Zolf isn’t complaining, how could he? How could he complain about Hamid whining as he uses Zolf like this? How could he complain about someone so beautiful squeezing his wrists so tightly? How could he complain about the man he’s got more than a small crush on letting him have this?)

Hamid keens, and Zolf is _so fucking close._ He tries to move Hamid off of him because they didn’t talk about this, because Zolf has no reason to think Hamid would agree to Zolf coming inside him. Hamid doesn’t seem to register the hand pushing at his hip. “Hamid– _shit,”_ but Zolf can’t warn him because he’s already coming. Hamid lets loose this little rumbling cry from the back of his throat as he sits all the way down, tightening around Zolf like _too good_ and _too warm_ and _too much,_ but he looks so pretty doing it that Zolf doesn’t even mind.

“Oh,” gasps Hamid, slowly coming back down to earth, “oh, that was… oh.” His eyes are still closed, but Zolf probably shouldn’t be smiling at him like he is, in case they open. 

There’s sweat glistening on Hamid’s neck and chest, and his mouth has fallen open as he pants, and he looks _beautiful._ Zolf doesn’t say that, though. Instead, he asks, “You gonna get off?” Hamid blinks his eyes open before nodding apologetically. His thighs shake with exertion as he slips off of Zolf, and he falls into the mattress next to him with very little ado. Zolf pulls him just a little bit closer with the hold he has on Hamid's hips.

Hamid whispers something and clicks his fingers before wincing slightly. He grumbles, “It’s not _that_ cold,” and he sounds so put out that Zolf laughs, though he quickly tries to stifle it when Hamid pouts at him. “Do you want—”

“I’m good,” Zolf says quickly. He lets go of Hamid’s hips and stands up, wincing at the way his back twinges. Hamid really scratched him to hell and back, didn’t he? “Figured I could go clean up in the bathroom. Sidenote: where’s your bathroom, again?” This last thing he directs back at Hamid, turning around to face him. Hamid looks very small, suddenly, half curled-up under the covers of his massive bed. He’s not shuddering, but Zolf is still very much reminded of when he first walked in.

Hamid says, “Oh,” very quietly. “Um, first door to the left.”

Zolf takes a step back toward the bed. “Are you alright?”

Hamid smiles at him. It’s incredibly fake. “Yes, fine! Um, are you– I mean, d-do you want to sleep in the guest room?”

(Right.) 

(This keeps happening, and Zolf keeps holding Hamid close after it does, but he had to know he’d stop getting away with it at some point.)

Zolf shrugs. “I mean, I guess? Are you sure you’ll be alright without anyone with you?” It’s the first thing Zolf can think up, the best excuse to stay. 

Something like concern flashes across Hamid’s face, but it’s gone in half an instant. He nods. “I’ll be alright,” he assures Zolf, “you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

Zolf raises an eyebrow. “Do _you_ want me to?”

Hamid’s whole face dark with embarrassment. He waves a hand and repeats, “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” His blush reaches the points of his ears as well.

At this point, Zolf just sighs and turns back toward the door. “I’m gonna clean up, and then I’m gonna come back and make sure you don’t get all—” he flutters a hand vaguely— “weird and lonely again.” Hamid manages to make his spluttering sound apologetic and indignant at the same time.

(Zolf manages not to sound lovestruck and needy when he tells Hamid to stop being an idiot. Hamid huffs indignantly, but he moves into Zolf’s arms from where he was halfway across the bed.)

(Zolf scrapes blunt nails along the back of Hamid’s neck, and Hamid relaxes into him, practically melting at the touch.)

(This keeps happening. Zolf isn’t complaining, how could he? How could he complain about Hamid making a soft happy noise into his neck? How could he complain about someone so beautiful pressed so warmly against him? How could he complain about the man he’s a tiny bit in love with letting himself be held?)

“Night,” Zolf mumbles to the empty room. 

Hamid doesn’t answer, fast asleep, head nestled in the crook of Zolf’s shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> The schedule I'm gonna try and keep for this is one posted every Sunday, and then three in quick succession on June 9th, 10th, and 11th, so once the Definitely Not Going To Be Canon one is posted, the next day we should get confirmation on its canon divergence. I don't know if I explained that well. Oh well. Check back next Sunday for the fourth work, I guess.


End file.
